


Credo

by Susan



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: M/M, Post-Sweet Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 18:36:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Susan/pseuds/Susan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sometimes you have to accept that God knows best. That you don’t automatically get what you want, just because you ask.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Credo

Hutch was eight when his grandmother, his mother’s mother, died. He understood death by then – he’d seen the stillborn calf Molly had had that spring – but, like all bad things in life, he never expected it to happen to his family.

“Why did she die?” he asked his mother the night before the funeral.

“She was old and tired,” she told him as she pulled the blanket over him. “God wanted her to rest.” 

He suspected his mother was lying – he’d never known his grandmother to do anything except rest.

“But, Mom –“

She kissed him quickly on the forehead. “Go to sleep. She’s with the angels now.”

Now he was sure she was lying. She’d used that exact same voice to explain how the tooth fairy took away the baby tooth from under his pillow and left him a dime. Then last month he’d found an envelope marked _Kenny’s first tooth _in her top drawer. He hadn’t told anyone yet, but he’d begun to have his doubts about the Easter Bunny too.__

__He trusted his father to tell the truth. He waited until after supper on Saturday night to ask him._ _

__“How come Grandma died?”_ _

__His father put down his newspaper and lifted Hutch onto his lap. Hutch leaned his head back against the worn flannel of his father’s shirt. “She was sick, I guess. The kind of sick that the doctors don’t know how to fix.”_ _

__“How come? They fixed Grandpa after he had his heart tack.”_ _

__“Heart _at _-tack. Your grandmother was sicker than he was. Besides, some people are just too mean to die.” He lowered his voice. “Don’t tell your mother I said that.”___ _

____Hutch lifted his father’s wrist to his ear so he could listen to the ticking of his watch. He counted to twenty-five. Once, he’d counted all the way to two hundred without talking. “Dad, Mom always says I should pray for the things I want. Why didn’t she just pray for Grandma to get better? Then she wouldn’t be so sad.”_ _ _ _

____“I’m sure she did.”_ _ _ _

____“So how come God didn’t listen? He listened to me. I prayed for a new bike for my birthday, and I got one, remember?”_ _ _ _

____“Sometimes you have to accept that God knows best. That you don’t automatically get what you want, just because you ask.”_ _ _ _

____“Doesn’t seem very fair to me.” Hutch pulled the pouch of pipe tobacco from his father’s front pocket, opened it and held it to his nose. He loved that smell – a mix of wood and apples that would forever after remind him of his father. “Dad, will you get ever get too sick to fix?”_ _ _ _

____“Maybe one day. Not for a long time, though. I’ve got a lot of fly-fishing to do between now and then.” He held out his pipe and Hutch filled it with tobacco for him. It was a ritual they had started when Hutch was barely five. “Any more questions or do I get to smoke this pipe in peace?”_ _ _ _

____Hutch stood and brushed the loose tobacco from his shirt. “Nah, I’m going to go ride my bike until it gets dark.”_ _ _ _

____“Son?” his father said when he was at the door. Hutch stopped and turned back._ _ _ _

____“Not sure you should be using up all God’s goodwill asking for bikes. You might need something really important one day.”_ _ _ _

____“Like a dog?”_ _ _ _

____His father laughed. “Exactly. Like a dog.”_ _ _ _

____****_ _ _ _

____The priest appeared outside Starsky’s door on the third day. He stood in the corridor, fingering his collar nervously. He reminded Hutch of every rookie he’d ever trained. “I thought perhaps Detective Starsky might appreciate a visit – “_ _ _ _

____Hutch was impatient. “He’s Jewish. And he’s in a coma.” The word had jagged edges that tore at his heart each time he said it._ _ _ _

____“I wasn’t sure. Starsky is a Polish name. Is there anything I can do for you, Detective?”_ _ _ _

____“No disrespect, Father, but just go away.”_ _ _ _

____****_ _ _ _

____The priest reappeared two weeks later. He was leaning awkwardly against the wall, a Coke in one hand, when Hutch came out of Starsky’s room._ _ _ _

____“He’s still Jewish,” Hutch said. He scrubbed a tired hand across his face. He needed to go home and shower and change._ _ _ _

____“I thought you might need someone to talk to and I was in the neighborhood. How is your partner?”_ _ _ _

____“He’s dying.” It was almost a relief to say it out loud. It seemed that grief and worry and fatigue had worn away the words’ jagged edges. “He has pneumonia and the doctors are running out of new antibiotics to try. They’re talking about putting him on a ventilator to help him breathe. He’s trying so hard, it’s just – ”_ _ _ _

____The priest stepped forward and laid a hand on Hutch’s arm. “There’s a couch in the lounge. We can talk there.”_ _ _ _

____Hutch pulled back his arm. The priest was too young, his eyes too limpid, his faith too certain. “I’m not Catholic,” Hutch said._ _ _ _

____“I won’t tell if you don’t. My name is Father McGowan, by the way. Jim McGowan.”_ _ _ _

____Hutch shrugged and followed him down the hallway past the nurses’ station. He was tired. Of worrying. Of waiting. Of wanting what he couldn’t have. In the lounge, they sat down side by side on the orange vinyl couch, across from the soda machine and the bookcase full of faded Reader’s Digests. There was a small framed plaque on the wall that read _A Gift of the Koulis Family _. The Koulis family, whoever they were, had a lot to answer for.___ _ _ _

______Father McGowan drank his Coke and waited for Hutch to begin. It almost made Hutch smile – he used the same technique to get suspects talking. “I know you mean well, but it’s not you I want to talk to. It’s Starsky. There are things I want to tell him, things I need to ask – ” He looked down and rubbed a grease spot on his jeans._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Then talk to him. Tell him how you feel.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“How I feel? Most of the time I don’t feel anything. The rest of the time, I’m scared shitless. I’m afraid he’s going to die and there’s not a damned thing anyone can do about it. Not me, not the doctors, not even God.” Hutch looked at Father McGowan. “My father told me once that I shouldn’t be wasting God’s time on the small stuff, that I should save my prayers for something big. Guess this is what he meant. I haven’t thought about that in a long time.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Ah, the Aladdin’s lamp school of theology. Three wishes is all you get?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Father McGowan, I – ”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Call me Jim. I know I don’t look much like anyone’s father.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“OK. Jim. I appreciate that you want to help, but there’s nothing you can do. Really.” His voice faltered. “Look, I need to get back to Starsky.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______He stood and walked away._ _ _ _ _ _

______****_ _ _ _ _ _

______In the end, there was no ventilator. The pneumonia slowly cleared while everyone held their breath. The doctors credited the new antibiotic, Starsky claimed it was because there was no way he was letting them stick “that fucking tube” down his throat. And Father McGowan, Starsky’s new cribbage buddy, looked at Hutch and muttered something under his breath about the power of prayer._ _ _ _ _ _

______****_ _ _ _ _ _

______Hutch was thirty-nine when his father died. He understood nothing about death by then, except that it was random and capricious and inevitable._ _ _ _ _ _

______After the funeral, he bought a new leather strap for his father’s watch and wore it every day. Sometimes, in the evenings, when he was alone and the house was quiet, he would hold the watch against his ear, count the seconds and remember._ _ _ _ _ _


End file.
